


Danger Do Not Touch

by GordandV



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Strip clubs and dollar bills, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: Jason will admit that spending every night of the week in a strip club does not get old.  It’s easy to forget he’s on a job and supposed to be paying attention to Creeper McGee instead of letting himself stare. What he doesn't expect is a red-haired Dick Grayson moving like a porn star around the pole. It couldn't really be Dick, could it?





	1. Warning Do Not Touch

Jason will admit that spending every night of the week in a strip club does not get old. His target does not frequent the same joint every night which means there’s always new bodies, routines, dancers. It’s easy to forget he’s on a job and supposed to be paying attention to Creeper McGee instead of letting himself stare up at a pretty dark-haired girl in hot pink who knows how to much every inch of body to the beat of whatever shitty song is playing. She’s hypnotizing as she twists and arches, and Jason has no shame whatsoever when he tucks a crisp bill into her top when she leans over and give him a face full of beautiful, generous cleavage.

It’s a week night so it’s fairly quiet in the joint on the outskirts of Blüdhaven. Jason is pretty sure that the dancer is just hanging around him because he’s the least creepy guy there. He’s made absolutely no move to touch, has made no comments, and really he thinks he’s a pretty polite patron despite not piling her with money. There must be some type of shift change or something because she lays flat on the stage and pillows her head on her arms and smiles at Jason as she kicks her feet in the air.

“I gotta go,” she purrs. “Come back soon?”

“Aw, leaving me already?” Jason asks, half serious as he reaches for another, larger bill. He holds it up for her and she smirks. She sits herself up and taps between her wonderfully full breasts.

“I’m leaving you in good hands,” she offers somewhat cryptically as Jason sticks the bill in the crease. He barely touches her and doesn’t accidentally let his hand cop any type of feel like he figures other men might do. She’s seems grateful and reaches out to pat his cheek, almost motherly. He doubts she gets much respect, but it’s a still a job even if part of the job means letting strange men put money into your underwear. There’s no reason to be a perv even doing that as Jason had just proved.

“But I like you,” Jason fake pouts, going so far as to lean his head on his hand on the little bar top around the stage. “You sure you have to go?”

“I think you’ll like Dixie,” she says, tipping her head as she gets up. “So long as you don’t mind guys.”

Jason’s ears perk as she saunters away with a soft “good night”.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters under his breath, directing his gaze over to his target who has been mooning over another girl on a pole for the better part of an hour. The man is absolute scum, but he has a thing for the male dancers. He gets chatty with them, as Jason’s learned, so Jason gets up and stretches and goes over to the stage where the target is as the girl on the pole dismounts and gives a little bow. So far the man has only tried offering the male employees drugs, and Jason has gotten a number of dealers busted from the man’s directions of where to get them. Jason’s hoping he spills more such information, or even better yet gives him a better idea about the drug lord overseeing the whole operation.

The dancer kneels down at the edge to let Creeper McGee curl a few more bills into her underwear, though his hand caresses down her bare thigh as he retracts it. Jason doesn’t miss her slight grimace and adds another tally to his list. He figures once the piece of shit of a human is no longer useful a punch for every time he’s touched a worker will be somewhat poetic.

“Dixie,” he hears the man hum dreamily as the girl gets a spray bottle and rag and climbs again. She wipes the pole down from top to bottom with a cloth then leaves. It’s not unusual for the man to be familiar with stage names, but Jason can’t recall anyone going by Dixie. Darling, Dede, Darlene, but no Dixie. He really hopes that it’s not some young boy who’s about to come out on stage because Jason isn’t sure he has the control to watch Creeper McGee proposition another person who barely looks legal.

“Dixie,” Jason whispers to himself as he picks up his club soda and swirls it around.

He blinks when the lights dim a bit more and brings the glass up to his lips. He looks to the end of the walkway of the stage where it’s darker. He can only make out the back of two shapely, masculine legs and some sparkling silver hot pants. He feels his eyebrows arch upwards as dancer backbends in a blur to the pole. His eyes flicker to Creeper McGee who looks just as stunned as Jason feels who looks back in time to watch the guy shoulder mount up. It takes a moment before Jason gets his first look at the dancer’s face and he immediately snorts club soda out his nose. He slaps a hand over his face and chokes on what liquid goes down his throat and stares, unbelieving. The dancer is not some young wispy thing; he’s solid, pure muscle, and definitely over the age of 21.

Jason should be thankful that the dancer looks at least physically capable of taking care of himself. He really should be, but he can’t be because the longer he stares and lets club soda and snort drip down his face he keeps seeing a red-haired Dick Grayson moving like a porn star around the pole. It isn’t until the dancer drops down into a perfect middle split and gets his chance to properly look at his audience that Jason gets his confirmation; the dancer absolutely freezes when Jason meets his eyes and his mouth opens a bit in shock. Without him moving around Jason gets a real good look and it is definitely Dick Grayson under that red hair, generous freckles and what must be dark brown contacts.

“Holy shit,” Jason blurts as his wipes his face, unable to look away.

“You can say that again,” Creeper McGee agrees, but his tone is dark, appreciative. He’s already holding up some money as his gaze follows the long line of Dick’s open legs. “Dixie, such a pretty name for such a pretty boy.”

It’s clear that Dick was not expecting to see any familiar faces, still gaping at Jason. Jason blames shock as he goggles and forgets that he is in the middle of a job, a couple feet away from his target. He’s always pegged Dick as a goody two shoes, the golden child, which somehow, in Jason’s mind, made him chaste and innocent. He went about as Nightwing, sure, but Nightwing was about as good and law-abiding as a vigilante could be.

“Stuck, baby?” Creeper McGee croons which seems to snap Dick out of it. He reaches behind his head, grips the pole, and heaves himself up, narrowly missing clocking Jason and Creeper in the face with his feet. He gets higher on the pole and keeps his thighs clamp about it as he straightens his legs and reaches below himself. He lets his torso fall back and uses the position to look down without being too obvious. He barely resists gritting his teeth as he recognizes Jason sitting right next to the guy he needs to lust after him so Dick can play him for information.  He squints a bit as Jason begins to mouth something at him.

_Play along._

Dick sits up and grips the pole tightly in frustration and embarrassment and shifts his legs. He has no doubt that Jason is somehow involved with the guy who keeps eying him like a steak; more than likely Jason is working the same case as him. There was always the chance that Dick would see a familiar face when he went undercover, but he figured none of his associates would ever venture into a strip club, at least not one on the outskirts of Blüdhaven. It’s just his luck that it’s Jason who has found him, one of the few people he does actually care about seeing him half naked and pole dancing.

He pushes that thought away as quickly as it comes; he has a job to do, and that involves seducing a drug dog to the best of his ability. He can’t think about Jason or what his younger brother is about to see as he twists his hips and drops a few inches into a superman which he can never do without mentally apologizing to Clark. He didn’t name the moves; he just does them. He reaches behind himself and arches as best he can and peeks at his mark who looks like he’s just found a treasure. By default his gaze then turns to Jason who still looks slightly horrified as he offers a discrete thumbs up. Dick rolls his eyes then squeezes them shut. Maybe if he can’t see Jason he won’t feel so sleazy.

_God I feel dirty_ , Jason thinks as he watches Dick dance. He tries to focus on the physicality of the movements, the amount of strength and control that must be needed, but it doesn’t work when there aren’t any fancy poles moves and he’s stuck with watching Dick writhe and arch on the stage. If it were any other performer Jason would let himself enjoy the body rolls and expressive hip movements, but he can’t. It becomes worse when he has to watch Creeper McGee beckon Dixie closer with a rather obscene amount of cash in hand. Dixie offers a smile, but Jason can see the disgust in his eyes as he moves closer. He doesn’t have any top or decorative straps and is left with just his shorts for anyone who wants to get close to leave a tip.

_Don’t blow cover_ , Jason starts repeating to himself as Dick gets the end of the stage. He spins on his knees last minute and keeps his hands crossed behind his head, swaying gently. He looks back over his shoulder as their mark takes his sweet time letting his fingertips brush down just above Dick’s shorts over his spine. Dick misses a beat when those finger dip low under the waistband and below his tailbone in an excuse to deposit the money.

_Don’t blow cover_ , Jason tells himself because is about to launch himself at the meat sack feeling up his brother. He and Dick, Red Hood and Nightwing, may not be on the best of terms, but no one gets to touch Dick like that and keep his fingers. Jason almost loses his head when Dick leans forward onto one forearm and whips one legs behind him with enough force that there is no doubt bones would be broken if any contact would be made. Creeper Mcgee gasps as Dick glares hard at him and purposefully adjusts the money down the back of his shorts.

“Oh Dixie, feisty as you?” asks Creeper, and Jason almost laughs because he sounds excited at the prospect at having almost gotten his neck broken.

“No touching,” Dixie clucks, half-sweet and half-warning before he moves himself to the bottom of the pole. His head ducks down, and his legs go up then split open. It’s just as impressive as before and Jason has to wrestle down a twinge of jealousy. If he worked as hard as Dick did he could make himself a pretzel too. More impressive is when Dick’s feet latch behind the pole and he hauls himself up, presumably all core work. It looks easy, fluid and quick, but Jason can’t imagine that any of it was comfortable.

“Dixie,” croons Creepy McGee as Dick hangs upside down in some type of shape that appears to only be supported by the back of his knee. “Why don’t you come back down here?”

He fans out his money like an invitation and Jason tells himself that Dick is posing as a pole dancer in a strip club, that it’s completely expected for him to try and be won over by money. He feels a bit of satisfaction when Dick eyes the cash then reaches behind his head to get his foot and stays put. Creeper McGee frowns a bit then fishes into a pocket. He adds more money to his hand and looks back up expectantly. Dick hesitates then slides down a few inches; Jason can’t tell if it’s on purpose or if he’s lost some grip.

The game continues, their target shelling out more bills and Dick moving closer and closer. It’s amusing to watch, and Jason thinks Dick will bleed the guy dry by the end of the song. He’s pretty sure that there’s over a hundred dollars by the time Dick is on the floor, and probably double that by the time Dick is kneeling at the end of the stage. All that amusement ends when Dick lets his knees splay out and Creeper McGee finally gets what he wants, namely depositing the cash. The low lights of the club don’t disguise how Dick’s jaw tightens as the man lets the edges of the bills trace up the inside of his leg and across the front of his shorts. Of course the entire wad doesn’t go in one shot either; each of the many bills get individually, slowly inserted. When fingertips caress over Dick’s abs above the waistband then blatantly become a whole hand getting a feel Jason’s own hand shoots out before he can stop himself.

“Hey!” their mark cries, automatically pulling back.

“Stop touching him,” Jason growls, letting go before he breaks the man’s wrist.

“The hell is your problem?” the mark asks as he rubs his wrist.

“Don’t touch him,” Jason repeats, tracking the movement of one of the club’s muscle who has seen the little commotion is likely coming over to investigate.

“I ain’t doing nothing but showing him my appreciation,” snaps the man. “Unlike you. What, too cheap to pay up? Just gonna stare?”

Jason gapes as he realizes the man is not only trying to guilt him but is also somewhat correct. It’s true he hasn’t shown a single bit of a money, but not for the reasons that most would think.

“Problem?” asks the muscle, though he looks up at Dixie who hasn’t moved.

“Yeah, this asshole grabbed me,” Creeper McGee spits.

“He might have, but you did touch me first,” Dixie tuts, wagging a finger. “That’s not allowed.”

“Dixie, pretty baby, don’t be like this.”

The only reason Jason does not vomit or punch the guy out is because it would ruin the job. He reaches inside his jacket and pocket where he’s kept most of his money for the night. He slaps it down on the stage and sweeps it out into a neat row.

“Why don’t you do some pretty spins for me?” Jason asks, hoping to diffuse the situation. “I couldn’t look away before, sorry uh, Dixie.”

“Bullshit,” Creeper McGee says, but Dixie stands up and saunters back to the pole.

“We’re good here, thank you Tony,” Dixie calls sweetly, hands on the pole and hips swaying. “We are good here, aren’t we?”

“I just got you over here,” the mark whines. “And now you’re gone.”

“I’ll be back, but this gentleman asked for some pretty spins first,” Dixie replies kindly. “I’ll give you all my attention soon.”

He walks once around the pole and Jason feels his eyes go wide at a reserve grab.

“Asshole,” Creeper McGee hisses at Jason. Jason glares a bit and slumps down a bit though he doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t have to wait too long until Dick crawls over to him on all fours.

“How was that?” Dixie asks, back arching inwards as he leans over and traces one of the bills with a finger. “Did I earn this?”

“Definitely,” Jason replies. He’s grateful that Dick takes the initiative to take most of his cash and tuck it against his side because he doesn’t think he could have put that money anywhere on Dick himself. He eyes Dick who holds up a crisp ten-dollar bill as he gets onto his knees. He grins as he flips onto his back and moves so his head hangs off the stage. He reaches upwards and clasps Jason’s jaw to slowly pull him down, keeping Jason’s head between him and the mark.

“Meet me at the corner of Tinton and Flagstaff in twenty minutes,” Dick whispers against Jason’s ears, loud enough to be heard over the music but quiet enough so the mark can’t listen in. “Tell me you’re out of money and get out of here.” He lets go, and Jason levels up.

“Wish I could stay longer, Dixie, but the bank’s closed,” he teases, making a show of turning out his empty outer pockets. “Thank you.”

“Daw, so soon?” Dixie asks, legs lifting upwards. “Come visit me again soon then.” He rolls himself over to Creeper McGee with a wink. “Don’t think I forgot about you. My name’s Dixie, what’s yours?”

There is equal parts guilt and relief when Jason leaves Dick alone to flirt with the target. He zig-zags his way over to Tinton and Flagstaff but puts himself down the street at a dilapidated bus stop. He checks his watch and figures he has at least another ten minutes if not longer. He sinks back against the dirtied, scratched glass as lets his mind take the time to proper process what he just went through.

“Holy shit,” Jason breathes, resting his elbows on his knees and bending over to rub over his face. “Fucking shit.”

Despite squeezing his eyes tightly shut he can’t shake himself of after images in his head that he would normally attune to a long porn spree. Every single one features Dick Grayson, his on-paper older brother, Nightwing, his sometimes crime-fighting partner. He feels horrendous all over again because of a part of him liked what he saw even though he kept telling himself he couldn’t. It really was the one dancer he couldn’t keep his eyes off of, and of course it was the one he could never actually try to play with.

“Hey Little Wing.”

Jason’s neck cracks as his head snaps upwards. He finds Dick wrapped up in a peacoat with grey sweats and sneakers peaking out from underneath. Outside in the dark of night his red hair is less shocking but still utterly unsettling.

“Dick,” Jason starts before Dick shakes his head.

“Don’t talk, not here. You can stay close to me, but keep quiet. Come on; it’s not a great neighborhood.”

It takes two tugs before Jason gets to his feet and Dick curls around one of his arms. Jason bends his arm a bit and tries not to feel like Dick is a clingy prom date as he’s lead down the street. They walk to a not great but not too shabby apartment building and up to the third floor. It isn’t until that Jason hears Dick lock the door to the apartment that he rounds about.

“Dick, what the fuck,” Jason states as Dick shrugs out of the peacoat. “Seriously, what the actual fuck are you doing.”

“Hungry?” Dick asks instead of answering, pushing past Jason and into the tiny kitchen.

“No I’m not hungry,” Jason growls, stalking after Dick. “I want to know why the hell I found you in some shithole strip club as a dancer!”

“What, never gone undercover before?” Dick replies easily as he opens the fridge and tosses over one of those mass population pre-made protein drinks that talks like chalky chocolate milk. He then goes over to a plush chair and flops down into it sideways to kick off his shoes.

“Dick, I just watched twerk upside on a pole.”

Dick brightens a bit. “You liked that? Inverted caterpillar; wasn’t sure I still had it in me but I guess it’s like riding a bicycle.”

Jason’s face darkens and the drink in his hands pops and then drips as he clenches. “I had to sit by and watch some stranger get to third base with you against your will.”

That has Dick squirm and look away, clearly uncomfortable. He hesitates for a moment then starts to drink, no doubt to buy himself some time. It gives Jason time to stare and realize that the freckles are gone and Dick’s eyes are their normal startling blue.

“Occupational hazard,” Dick says slowly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “And he didn’t get to third base; second at most.”

“Even after I left?”

“He didn’t touch me again,” Dick whispers, planting his feet on the cushion and leaning against the back of it. He looks young and tired and something tugs at Jason’s heart. “Blüdhaven PD needed an officer to go undercover and get close. We knew he frequented strip clubs, but anyone who looked like they came off the street got the cold shoulder. He liked the dancers though, especially ones that couldn’t fill out a bra.”

Dick shrugs one shoulder as he hugs himself and hunches down. “I was perfect.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine the list of male cops who could actually pull off convincing stripper was too long,” Jason snarks, dropping the mostly empty bottle onto the floor and into the stain that he doesn’t care about. “I bet Bruce and Alfred are thrilled knowing you get to be felt up by complete strangers.”

The laugh that Dick gives is cold. “You think I told them about this? Really? Forget the hell Brucie Wayne would have raised at the station for letting his son do this; just regular Bruce would have been bad enough.”

“They…don’t know?”

“Haven’t exactly talked with Bruce lately,” Dick mutters. “Or Batman either, really. He stays in Gotham; Nightwing stays in Blüdhaven as much as possible. Besides, advertising undercover work? Bad form, Jaybird. And yes, before you press the point I am purposefully not telling anyone because…I’m not exactly proud of the role I get to play. I know the reputation the dancers get; I don’t need to spread it around.”

“Even though you’re good at it. Really good.” Jason winces as the words leave his mouth.

“You can take the boy out of the circus,” Dick quips. “It’s no circus but its aerial skills and close enough.”

He puts his drink down and shakes his head a bit then pins Jason with a look; Jason is somewhat surprised Dick has it in him. “I really don’t care what you do so long as you don’t ruin my cover or my mission. I’d also appreciate it if word of my…skillset, didn’t make its rounds either. I’m already getting shit from my department and I know it’ll only get worse when it’s all over.”

“You’re embarrassed.”

“Despite what you may think about me, I’m not really an exhibitionist. You’ve probably seen more of me and what I can do outside of the bedroom than people I’ve actually had stay the night; I’m not exactly proud of that.”

Jason takes a few breathes and forces himself to relax. “How’d you leave so early tonight? What about that damn animal?”

“Pretended to miss a trick, but I promised I’d be back tomorrow,” Dick sighs as he reaches up and fiddles with his hair on the back of his, a nervous tick. “Well, I promised if he came back tomorrow at 10 I’d give him a private lap dance.”

Jason sees red as he thinks about Dick taking Creeper McGee into some little backroom. He imagination goes wild as it progresses, but he doesn’t know where to draw the line, where Dick would say no. “Dick…seriously?”

“There’s security and someone will be watching the whole time to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. Bet ya I get him talking about where I can get a fix in three minutes.”

“Sure, yeah, have fun with that.”

“Jay, where are you going?”

“Home, and out of this mission.”

It hurts Jason because he knows that Dick is thinking that he’s ashamed, disgusted, whatever, and can’t stand to be around Dick anymore. He slams the door on his way out and doesn’t bother to correct him. It’s a long walk to his motorcycle and one of his shortest trips back to Gotham. He suits up as Red Hood and knows that he’s letting his anger get the better of him as he heads over to where Creeper McGee has been shacking up. He doesn’t care that he’s sabotaging not only his own mission but Dick’s when he pulls the man out of bed and drags him up to the roof.

“I heard you went out tonight,” Red Hood snarls as he advances on the man who can’t find his footing as he tries to crawl backwards and away. “Heard you met a pretty dancer named Dixie.” He frees one gun from the holster and aims. “You like Dixie?”

“I don’t know what-” The crack of gunfire echoes out in the night as part of the roof chips off. The man screams as Red Hood pulls another gun and adjusts his aim a bit.

“Lie to me again and you won’t like where the next bullets hit,” Red Hood warns. “You went out and met Dixie; you like Dixie, don’t you?”

“I, I, yeah, yeah I do,” the man whimpers, arms shifting over his head as he cowers. It’s absolutely pathetic.

“Never met Dixie before, have you?”

“Never.”

“Gonna met Dixie tomorrow, right?”

“Y-Yes.”

Red Hood rushes forward in a blur of leather and kicks Creeper McGee down. One foot stays planted on his chest as the barrel of Red Hood’s unfired gun fits between the man’s lips. The amount of whimpering and crazed noises are practically music to Red Hood as he crouches over.

“Dixie, he’s a really good boy,” Red Hood says lowly, tipping his head down and hoping the creep can see his own reflection against the helmet when he stops going cross-eyed at the gun in his mouth. “Good boys make very good friends. Want to guess who Dixie’s friends with?”

The gun slowly retreats then presses right between the man’s eyes at the top of his nose. The man can’t seem to catch his breath as he shakes and continues to cry.

“See, I don’t think you know this, but I like Dixie too,” Red Hood drawls, thinking about Dick who, despite his faults, really does try his best and do the right thing. Dick, who has faced Gotham and her foes for years, who has seen death and destruction, who looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin just a few hours from one touch. No one should look like, especially not someone so powerful.

“Dixie is under my protection, and because this is your first offense I’ll let you off easy.”

Red Hood eases back a bit and lets his rage swim as the man looks up with a glimmer of hope before his brains splatter against the rooftop. His body remains upwards for a moment before collapsing back.

“Bet you didn’t feel a thing,” Red Hood says. “Consider yourself lucky I was in a good mood.” His mood is darker than Batman’s cape, but the still warm corpse isn’t about to get up and call him out.


	2. Danger High Voltage

Jason only feels vaguely guilty as he enters the strip club Dick is working undercover at; Creeper McGee will never show up for his ten o-clock lap dance with Dixie at BB’s, but Jason has about three-hundred dollars’ worth of cash on him in singles and fives. (And hadn’t exchanging twenties and fifties at the bank for all that been fun. Jason should have just walked in with an “I’m going to a strip club” badge pinned to his chest.)

It’s still early, and the club is mostly empty, but people are slowly starting to filter in. The lights have yet to be dimmed down low, but a few stages that have cheap neon Christmas lights strung around the edges are already on. Jason snags himself a seat by what he hopes is Dick’s usual pole and gives the pleather chair a onceover before making sure his shirt his tucked into his pants before sitting; he doesn’t even want to begin thinking what is on the chair or if the seats ever get wiped down, but his full-length pants and leather coat should be enough to keep his bare skin from touching anything.

Once he has his club soda in hand and confirmation that Dixie is due on the pole in an hour, Jason actually manages to sit back, relax, and enjoy a rather masterful chair routine that somehow ends up with a woman dressed in red pleather perched on edge of Jason’s chair and explaining Bludhaven’s “medieval” regulations when it comes to topless dancing. Jason’s already promised to pay her for the hour of talk instead of pole tricks, and by the end of sixty minutes, Jason has an intricate understanding what actually constitutes nudity in the eyes of the law, a few suggestions for lawyers in case he ever needs it, and a napkin full of tied cherry stems.

Cherry pushes a green stem past her red lips, and after a few seconds, removes the stem tied into a perfect knot with her fingers. Her red nails linger in her mouth, her tongue slides around the morsel with obvious dexterity and practice, and she drops it into a napkin without further fanfare. It’s a very sexy trick, and Jason frowns when Cherry mimes tapping her wrist and looking at a watch.

“Your boy is up next,” she says. “And I gotta go walk around and take drink orders.”

Jason hums a bit and then offers a very toothy smile; his own cherry stem is tied and clenched between his teeth. He tips his chin up and Cherry rolls her eyes before placing both hands on his chest and leaning over. She plucks the stem from Jason’s mouth using her own and then leans back, gives Jason’s front an appraising squeeze, and then slips the stalk into her mouth. She sucks on it and then places the used stem into their pile.

“Thanks for a good time,” Cheery says as she goes for their trash with a wink. “I’d love to see what else that tongue of yours is good at.”

Jason just smiles around his drink and doesn’t even bother trying to discretely watch Cherry as she heads off; a thong is apparently enough to keep BB’s legal, but judging by how thin the string is, just barely.

“That would be breaking penal code fourteen sub section eight B!” Jason calls, and Cherry actually turns around to laugh and blow Jason a kiss.

“You’re cute, kid!”

A muffled voice announces Dixie as the next performer, and Jason can’t help but tense when he suddenly has company at stage four; he and Creeper McGee had been the only two watching Dick the night before, but maybe that was because it had been a Wednesday. Is Thirsty Thursday still a thing that people do?

Jason winces when some old school Akon song begins to play. “Dixie, no,” Jason says to himself, because it’s a top-tier trashy strip club song, and Jason is genuinely afraid that someone is going to try and smack Dick on the ass in time to the lyrics, but Dick remains within arms’ length of the pole and doesn’t wander close to the edge of the stage. He’s just as impressive as the night before, and when the song is done, Dick is just barely out of breath. He gives a cursory sweep of the other patrons, clearly assessing who threw the most money, and then locks eyes with Jason and smiles. He makes a show of crawling over to the edge once he’s collected the cash and then gets way too close to Jason’s face.

“I see our friend didn’t show,” Jason whispers into Dick’s ear, and Dick does that weird thing where he giggles and shrinks in on himself a bit like a schoolgirl try to deflect attention. “I think your ten o’clock slot has opened up.”

Dick swats at Jason with his hand and then goes for his ear. Jason can’t help but gasp and shiver when Dick actually bites down; sure, it’s for show, but it’s still oddly… erotic. Brothers do not bite their bothers on the earlobe unless they’re fighting dirty and trying to tear the damn thing off, but Dick just gives a very gentle tug before letting go.

“You’re going to rent a private room and pay for a lap dance,” Dick whispers.

Dick leads Jason through BB’s by the hand and into a door marked “7” in faded gold lettering. It’s nothing more than an oversized closet with faded pink velvet walls and a mismatched lime green couch and pale blue pleather chair. The air is thick with the smell of air fresheners trying and failing to cover the must that has sunk into every inch of the place.

“Classy,” Jason mutters as Dick shuts the door before he’s tackled from behind.

“You! Little! Shit!”

Jason just manages to catch one of Dick’s fists. “What the _fuck_?”

Dick goes back to punching Jason, and eventually they wind up on the floor with Dick’s thighs crushing Jason’s windpipe; Jason reminds himself that as pretty as Dick looked with that silver pole between his legs, those thighs are deadly.

“Screw you!” Dick spits. “I’ve been undercover for weeks! I find my mark, get him primed to come back, and he shows up dead the next morning?”

Jason just grunts; Dick’s not wholly serious about doing him serious harm, but he’s clearly pissed enough to fight.

“I’m a cop, Jason! Did you really think I wouldn’t notice a guy I’ve been after for weeks showing up dead because someone put a bullet between his eyes?” He squeezes his legs, and Jason actually starts to suffocate. Dick lets off seconds later, but he switches to where he has Jason’s arm primed to dislocate and then shatter. “Talk!”

“We’re going to get caught,” Jason chokes out.

“No, we’re not. I looped the cameras and all the security guards know I can handle myself with the clients.”

Jason manages a laugh. “Is that why Tony rushed over last night when you were getting felt up? He thought you could take care of yourself? Ow! Yield! Yield!”

Jason feels his arm starting to slip out of its socket. Dick is half naked in blue hot pants, covered in glitter, and smells like cheap body spray, but he is anything but helpless.

“You little asshole,” Dick hisses. “Tony was doing his job; he’s literally paid to keep everyone in this club safe, me included. Now. Talk.”

“No one touches my brother like that and gets away with it, target or not.”

Dick’s grip eases a bit.

“He was one ball of slime in a pit full of it,” Jason continues. “We’ll find another smalltime dealer and get them to talk and then we can take down the drug lord. Shit!”

Jason pulls at Dick’s arm when he’s trapped in a headlock.

“I didn’t put on booty shorts, get groped, and have people throw dirty singles at me just so you could try and play the hero.” Dick’s voice begins to shake. “I’m a big boy, Jason, I can handle myself and a little abuse. You ruined weeks of work. And you know what? I’m going to have to do this all over again because you went off halfcocked and didn’t think about the consequences.”

“You shouldn’t have to go through all that just for an undercover mission.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “No, shit. No one should. Cop or not. Dancer or not. Get out.”

“But-”

“Out!” Dick lets go of Jason and all but throws him at the door. “I have to go back to work.”

“Dick-”

“If you’re that worried about me, I get out at four. You can walk me home since you don’t think I can handle myself.”

Jason frowns and hesitates.

“If you don’t leave within the next five seconds, I’m going to shove both of my escrima sticks up your ass.”

Jason just shrugs.

“And then turn them on,” Dick threatens.

Jason can’t get out fast enough. He lingers in a few late night marts to pass the time and then winds up at a diner that has decent cheeseburgers and good shakes. He gets a strawberry one to go and lingers outside BB’s for Dick. Dick leaves in the same grey sweatpants and dark pea coat at four fifteen AM, and Jason immediately holds the shake out as a peace offering before retracting it. Dick’s dyed red hair has been gelled and sprayed within an inch of its life over his left eye.

“Aiming for emo?” Jason asks, and Dick just turns his back on Jason and heads down the sidewalk. “Hey, I didn’t say it was ugly! Wait a second!”

He gets a good grip on Dick, and Dick stumbles over an uneven section of sidewalk. His right ankle nearly gives out beneath him, and Jason just manages to catch him with his free arm.

“Screw off,” Dick bites out, and Jason glimpses a hint of blue beneath red.

“Seriously, you’re starting to scare me,” Jason says.

“Not. Here.”

Jason whistles when Dick collapses onto his couch, pea coat already tossed onto the back of it, and then grabs the shake and presses it against his eye. It’s already bruised and starting to swell shut, and Jason goes for a proper icepack so that Dick can drink his shake and ice his eye socket. His ankle is little better, but it’s already been professionally wrapped, no doubt by Dick. He looks nothing short of a sorry sight, and Jason doesn’t even have to ask.

“I missed a trick,” Dick admits before taking a long slurp of shake. “The girl before me had lotion on and neither of us wiped down the pole when she was done. I got my iron X, but I wiped out trying to transition to butterfly. It’s barely sprained.”

Jason nods. “And that iron x wouldn’t give you a black eye, would it?”

Dick just shakes his head. “I was supposed to sit around and look pretty. Some asshole got handsy with another girl and got a lucky shot in.” He sips again and then curls up on the couch and turns his back on Jason.

“Hey, I’m… I’m really sorry.” Jason approaches with extreme caution because he has no idea where Dick has his escrima sticks. “If I hadn’t been a bonehead and… look, none of this should have happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“You think I’m mad at you?” Dick looks over his shoulder.

“Well, yeah. If you had gotten to give Creeper that lap dance and got the needed info, you might have bailed early at BB’s.”

Dick’s face pinches. “I’m mad you murdered that guy, Jason. I’m not mad at you for anything else. You didn’t punch me or put peach mountain mist on your body.”

Jason nods mutely. “Can I… help you?”

Dick snorts. “Don’t shoot any more of my marks and I’ll be happy,” he mutters.

“Scout’s honor,” Jason promises. “But I sort of meant short term. Like right now.”

Dick’s shake is mostly gone. “I really just want to go to bed.” He pulls up one of the loose legs of his sweatpants to reveal a black and blue mark the size of Jason’s hand on the back of his knee. “I messed up my side climb into a figurehead, too.”

Jason has no idea what that means, but Dick doesn’t seem to be in a chatty mood. Dick grabs some type of quilt from the back of the couch and tugs it over himself before finishing his milkshake and setting the container on the floor.

“Turn the lights off when you leave,” Dick mutters as he pulls the quilt up to his chin.

Jason opens his mouth to suggest a shower to get rid of the glitter and sweat and general scuzzy strip club feeling, but he quickly bites his tongue.

“I’ll maybe see you tomorrow night?” he suggests. “I can, uh, watch you dance? Or pick you up when you’re done?” He takes a step back. “Or none of the above?”

Dick just drags the quilt over his head. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn what you do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been poling for over a year and decided to we had to put what we learned into writing. It really does suck when you lose grip or miss a trick.


End file.
